


shall never see a password as secure as poetry

by nextraordinaire



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Horny Teenagers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Room of Requirement Shenanigans, Teenagers, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 02:08:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5356937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextraordinaire/pseuds/nextraordinaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has wanted the password to the Gryffindor common room for ages, but there's no way Erik's going to let him have it. Not on purpose, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shall never see a password as secure as poetry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thicketofantlers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thicketofantlers/gifts).



> To get it out of the way, I am an incorrigible Potter-head. So, while there's been two Hogwarts AU fills this year, there has unfortunately been a severe lack of real, _actual_ Hogwarts action, which made my fingertips itch! This is the remedy for that: Slytherin Charles for [thicketofantlers](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thicketofantlers) (something I support 110%) and some pining Gryffindor Erik for my own self-indulgent needs!
> 
> Thanks to [afrocurl](http://archiveofourown.or/users/afrocurl) and [velvetcadence](http://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence) for betaing!
> 
> P.S. The boys are in year Six, and thus sixteen and seventeen respectively.

Once the last finals were over, most of the students jumped onto the Express that very same night. Purebloods, mixed and muggleborns, witches and wizards, did no difference for the holidays and the chance to leave school and homework behind for a couple of weeks.

Normally, Erik would have gone home too. Especially on the years when Hanukkah collided with Christmas. It was always nice to go back to Manchester to see his parents. This year, however, when Charles had asked if he wanted to stay behind over the holidays, it hadn’t been a tough choice. He’d sent a letter to his mother, asking if it was alright, of course, but she’d merely assured him that she and his father would manage just fine, and that it was lovely to see that he had friends who wanted him to stay.

It also turned out that if you had contacts in Hufflepuff and asked – nicely, of course – the house elves happily made latkes, kosher meat and even placed a few gelts by your cup during dinner. Erik didn’t think he’d eaten as much as he had tonight, and considering how hefty the meals were on an average day, that said something.

So, that found him here, half-asleep in his favourite chair in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the flames. Across from him, Moira was snoring quietly, her head pillowed on one of the Advanced Transfiguration books she’d all but stolen from the library if you counted how many months ago she should have returned it. She’d stuck her wand in her hair, and that was the only reason Erik hadn’t woke her up yet.

He was slipping into that blissful state of food-induced coma, when he heard a familiar voice from outside.

“No, you look absolutely divine today, darling! I swear it. That dress is absolutely magnificent, really brings out your eyes! I don’t know who decided purple wasn’t a Christmas colour, but in any case it’s a shame.”

Shaking his head, Erik rose from the chair and saved himself from hearing more of Charles’ attempt to charm his way past the Fat Lady. That one of these days he was going to succeed, Erik tried not to think about. It was bad enough that Erik let him in on a thrice-weekly basis.

He let the portrait swing open – ignoring the Lady’s indignant squawk – and met Charles’ blinding smile with a flat look. “You need to stop doing that.”

Charles, looking dapper as ever in his casual Slytherin uniform – pullover over shirt and tie – just smiled. “Why so?”

“You’re taking advantage of her,” Erik said, crossing his arms over his chest. He’d changed out of his own business casual as soon as possible; preferring the woolen Quidditch sweater over any of the other clothes Hogwarts had them wear.

Charles rocked onto his toes, one eyebrow raised. “We both enjoy it, and it’s mutually beneficial.”

“Really, now?” Erik said, grinning back at him. “What do you gain, apart from that password you’re never getting?”

“I get to practice my variations.” Charles winked. “Gotten quite a bit smoother, don’t you think?”

Erik shook his head. “Just know that if you ever succeed, we’ll change it in a second and you’ll be in so much trouble.”

At that Charles leaned forward. “Only if you report me, which you wouldn’t dare,” he whispered in conspiracy.

Erik laughed at him. “You manipulative bastard.”

“I prefer the term persuasive, I’ll have you know,” Charles smiled, one of those smiles that would and could get him anywhere, but still made something warm glow in Erik’s stomach.

“Fine, alright. What do you want?”

Erik had been around Charles Xavier long enough to know that he hadn’t been placed in the house of ambition for nothing. Sure, he was pleasant and fun, had friends in all of the houses, but fact still stood that his ambition overshadowed almost anything else. It wasn’t that it was always a hook – even though there often were – but Charles gained something from the exchange. Often, it was as simple as someone’s temporary trust, and often mutual, but there was always something to be gained.

Now, Charles pulled a familiar bottle from behind his back. Delicately made, the neck was spiraling and windling in delicate patterns before it reached the cork and it was filled with a sparkling red liquid.

“Is that – ?” Erik started.

Charles nodded. “Yes, indeed. Emma let me have one, if I owed her one.”

“Is that wise?”

“I had one on her, so this makes us even.” Tossing the bottle of fire whisky from hand to hand, he then added, “And since it’s just you, Moira and Logan left who’s above drinking age, and I need a companion to do some treasure hunting in the Room of Requirement, why not make a night of it. What do you say?”

Last time they’d gotten drunk on the hilariously strong stuff Emma bootlegged for had been this year’s Yule Ball. Moira had ended up so drunk Erik had been forced to give her a piggyback ride up the stairs, despite the fact that he was a bit tipsy himself. Charles had also asked him to dance with him, and those three minutes, when Erik had had his face two inches from Charles’, still counted as both the best and hardest in his life.

So this was probably going to end in tears, and yet he felt himself nod.

“I know Moira’s conked out,” Erik said, taking a quick look to assure himself that was still true. “But I’m in.”

“So just us, then,” Charles said, grinning.

“What? What about Howlett?” Erik asked, in his mind hoping that the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain had declined. He was fun enough, but the prospect of maybe having Charles all to himself for a while, made something deep inside Erik’s kindle with hope.

“I passed by there, but he wasn’t up for it. I’m pretty sure Ororo Munroe was there.”

“No wonder he bailed on you,” Erik said.

“I thought best to leave them alone,” Charles said, spinning the bottle between his palms. “Do you need to get something else, or are you ready to go?”

Leaning in, Erik pulled his scarf and a casual jacket from the many hooks just inside the door. He stepped out winding the scarf around his neck. “No, let’s go,” he said, and they hopped on to the next stair heading towards the fifth floor.

They’d found the Room of Requirement during one of the many explorations trips, and after some reading – done mostly by an absolutely fascinated Moira – they’d found the very special version where students from all ages and times had hidden their things. Everything from sagging heaps of weapons and clothes to jewelry that only people desperate enough would like to touch.

This evening, it seemed like the room hadn’t been spared from the spell making it snow from the ceiling in all the rooms – classrooms and the Great Hall alike. Erik wound his scarf a little tighter around his neck as Charles held his wand up to shine light through the many makeshift lanes that had been created in the rubbish.

“So what are we looking for again?” Erik asked.

Charles turned his head, grinning, “Well, anything, really. I need a Christmas present for Raven.”

“Why don’t you just go into Hogsmeade for that?” Erik muttered, rubbing his hands together to create some warmth. The old frostbite in his fingertips was already making itself known.

“Too predictable,” Charles supplied, pulling a pair of tapestries to the side to peek into a nook filled with shrunken heads.

Erik bit back a gag. “Don’t touch anything cursed. I don’t think Governor McCoy is even awake at this hour,” he said, only succeeding in making Charles laugh, the sound echoing down the lane.

They walked through the makeshift maze of things, shoulders bumping and wands held high. When they got deeper into the maze, Erik used Moira’s homemade static sparkling spell, and shot a small spray of golden sparks that then hung in the air above them.

After what felt like a small eternity, they came to a cleared area where students, for some reason, had hidden furniture. In the middle, there was an old rococo loveseat, and Erik didn’t think before he sat down. Charles just nodded, and started digging into the pile of books that was situated around a pile of old busts.

Still feeling sleepy, Erik entertained himself by practicing the nonverbal spell casting Professor Grey had assigned for homework. He had just made a sickle dance in the air, when Charles reappeared from around the bust pillar.

“Look at this!” He held out a book, the spine cracked and corners scuffed that held the title, _Nonverbal Transfiguration for the Conscious Witch_. “Isn’t it perfect for her?”

“Aren’t you certain she knows all of them already?”

Sitting down beside Erik – too close, always too damn close – Charles shook his head. “Not everyone. But if she does, I’m certain she doesn’t have this one in her collection at least. It’s –” he opened the book, looking that the inside of the cover – “ from 1894. It’ll be interesting nonetheless.”

Erik made a noncommittal noise as Charles pulled out the fire whisky from his illegally expanded back pocket and open the cork with a light tap of his wand. He took a swig and then held out the bottle to Erik.

“To the Holidays.”

In the sprinkle of lights that still hung in the air above them, Charles looked almost otherworldly. He wasn’t what people would say conventionally attractive – his nose too big, too many freckles and too short – but Erik had always found that conventions had a tendency to be wrong about most things.

Especially when it came to Charles.

He tore his eyes from Charles’. “To the Holidays,” he said, placed his mouth just where Charles’ had been a second earlier and took a swig, feeling the alcohol burn all the way down.

~*~

An hour later, Erik realized he’d never given Moira enough praise for managing even a part of the stairs after the Yule Ball.

Walking up them when the whole world spun like a merry-go-round was a lot harder than it looked. Erik knew he’d have busted his ankles had he’d been forced to do this in high heels. Thankfully, the castle was so devoid of people, there was only a slim risk that someone would catch them stumbling through the halls.

At this point, Charles was leaning just as heavily on Erik as Erik was on him. He had his arm tight around Erik’s waist as he kept a steady eye on the small gathering of hummingbirds he’d conjured up from nowhere. Blue and quiet, they flew back and forth, scouting out the halls, lest they’d run into a Professor Pryde or –  God forbid – Professor Essex.

“Yours or mine?” Charles’ voice was slurred when they finally reached the moving stairs.

Swallowing a hiccup, Erik closed his eyes. Everything was still spinning. “Tower’s closer. We’re on fi-fifth floor.”

Charles nodded against Erik’s shoulder. “Fair enough.”

With caution, they caught the next stairway moving towards the Northern Tower. Charles wanted to sit down, but Erik insisted that he stay upright until they could get inside. The Fat Lady definitely gave Erik a nasty look as he had to say “ _Sopophorous_ ” three times for her to let them in.

As the portrait swung shut, they remained standing for a moment, swaying on their feet. Charles giggled, leaning heavily into Erik’s neck, breath hot against his skin.

“ _Sopophorous_ ,” he said, grinning, and Erik put his hand over his mouth.

“No, no, you didn’t hear that. Shh.”

“But I did.”

“Don’t say it aloud,” Erik whispered, and zipped his lips.

Charles obeyed for once, his lips damp against Erik’s hand. His eyes were slightly hooded from the alcohol, and Erik’s throat went dry as he was filled with the urge to just kiss him.

Tearing his eyes away before he did something stupid, Erik peeked into the Common Room, looking for Moira’s messy hair.  “Moira?” he whispered. “Moira, are you awake?”

Holding onto the wall for stability, Erik looked over the back of the sofa, finding it empty.

“She there?” Charles asked from the doorway, still swaying slightly.

Erik shook his head and fell down into the cushions, thankful to not remain standing. The floor was acting like a ship deck, and Erik had never had a good relationship with the sea.

Charles made his way over, also holding on to chairs and tables before he could fall down beside Erik with a deep sigh. “We made it. The bottle is empty,” he than said, holding it up for Erik to see.

Unable to form words, Erik just leaned his swimming head onto Charles’ shoulder. “Good. I don’t want more. Couldn’t take it,” he said, words slurring quite badly.

At that, Charles just patted his head. “Me neither.”

Moira must have put another log on the fire before heading up to bed, because the fire was high, casting shadows all over the red and golden tapestries on the walls. It was warm here, in comparison to the chilly castle, and while the ridge of Charles’ collarbone dug into his ear, Erik wasn’t sure when he’d last felt so at peace.

“You got a gift for Raven, though,” Erik said, following the movement of the flames.

Charles put his head atop Erik’s. “Yes, I did. Mission accomplished. Do you want one too?”

He tilted his head up, looking at Charles’ unconventionally beautiful face. “I’m Jewish, Charles.”

“I know,” Charles said, offhandedly. “But what if I want to give you something anyways? Not as a Christmas present.”

Erik did his utmost to keep his voice from slurring as he said,  “I don’t think you want to give me what I want.”

“What is that?” Charles looked back at him, serious, and for some reason Erik couldn’t look away.

He’d had plenty of time to be scared in his life. There had been almost killing the cat when his magic kicked in, sitting in front of hundreds of people to be sorted into his future, and then swimming, lungs burning and trying to reach a surface despite it being covered in ice. So, for all he would like to claim otherwise, Erik had had his fair share of feeling intimidated.

But all of that was nothing compared to this.

This – this was pure terror. It was looking into Charles’ eyes and seeing everything – the darker streaks in them, around the edge and crowding closer towards the pupil – and realising that he really didn’t know Charles at all. Because this was Charles, who was familiar and warm, but this was also Charles who’d sworn to kill his stepfather without mercy if he ever hurt Raven again.

This was Charles, mere inches from him, eyes wide and glinting, but softening by the second.

Erik swallowed down his dizziness, his mouth dry as parchment.

Because Charles was looking back, had yet to look away for all this time. That was probably the most difficult part of it all. Not just looking, but being studied, remembered and scrutinized in return. Erik knew he should break the contact, close his eyes for real, lean away and pretend that didn’t just happen.

It was just that he _couldn’t._

He felt open, vulnerable and on edge, and that would only worsen if he was the one to break this stalemate, this truce that they had held up for years. Charles was there, and he was staring too – eager, eyes sparkling, but also hard like mirrors, guarded.

Suddenly, Erik remembered one drunken confession Charles had made, nearly a year ago now.

“You know, Erik,” Charles had said, grinning and flushed in the Slytherin basement as he leaned his head on Erik’s shoulder, swinging the same kind of bottle they’d just emptied. _“_ You have such pretty eyes. Such pretty eyes. I could stare into them forever _._ ”

Erik, more sober then than now, had just patted Charles’ head, ignoring Raven and Moira’s guffaws. “Please don’t, Charles. I want to blink, sometime.”

It wasn’t that Erik didn’t know he had nice eyes. Not only because Charles had said so, then, but also his mother and sister and Magda, once upon a time. However, it was in a very detached way – a simple acknowledgement of one of the limited ways he might by physically appealing.

But he wanted, for some unfathomable reason, for Charles to dig deeper. See past all the things Erik couldn’t force himself to say, despite all the chances he’d had over the years. Ever since that fateful day when Charles had saved Erik’s life by throwing himself into an ice hole when no one else would.

He couldn’t explain why now was the time, only that it was now, or it would never happen; another missed connection.

Just for size, he tried on the thought of how it would be to be special in Charles’ life. Not just his unthinkable Gryffindor friend, one in the multi-house gang, but really special. How Charles would fit against his shoulder, riding piggyback on his back or just curled up beside him on the couch, all that pent-up brilliance at his fingertips. How it would be to wake up to Charles breathing in his hair, stirring the hairs at the nape of his neck. How it would be to have Charles naked under him, to hear him moan and rake his nails over Erik’s back as Erik gripped his thigh and pushed into him, slid in and out, in and –

Charles gasped.

His pupils must have dilated, because he’d grown hard as he’d ever been and there was no way Charles hadn’t noticed, had missed the obvious way Erik’s face heated up, turning absolutely scorching with mortification.

He broke the contact, a tightness in his throat that was closing up, making it so hard to breathe, as he stared into the flames. Beside him, Charles settled back down against the sofa, his breaths soft and nearly inaudible over the crackling of the fire.

Erik should look at him. Either that, or get up and bolt. He knew he should, but he felt drained, like his marrow had been seeped out of his bones, leaving them hollow and fragile.

He could feel Charles’ eyes on him, heavy and silent, and looked.

Charles had sunk into the couch, low enough that he looked crumpled and torn, and Erik closed his eyes again, thinking about how he’d fucked up everything once again. If he were to hold a stethoscope to his chest, he would be able to hear something vital break beyond repair.

“Shit,” Charles said, simply, something shellshocked in his voice.

Erik swallowed. “Yeah,” he whispered.

Slowly, as if he didn’t realize he was doing it, Charles then crawled up the sofa, on hands and knees until he was hovering over Erik, holding himself up above him. He was so close, Erik could taste the fire whisky on his breath, could hear him swallow as shadows from the dying fire danced over his face.

Charles pressed their hips together. Erik bit his tongue, but still he couldn’t hold it back. “ _Fuck_.”

“You want me.” Charles’ eyes flitted over him, his cheeks flushed back to life. “You want _me_.”

Erik couldn’t answer that, so instead he nodded, breathing through his teeth to keep himself from bucking upwards to make sure that yes, Charles was just as affected by this as he was, that Erik wasn’t the only one feeling shaky and stupid and filled with too much of something indefinable. Charles’ eyes were nearly black now, and that should have been terrifying. But it wasn’t. Erik was surrounded by warmth, the familiar scent of fire and common room and Charles, and there was no part of Erik that would mind getting a one-way ticket to hell for this.

Something which ought to scare him a lot more than it did.

Charles leaned down, and rested his lips on Erik’s and that, those lips that Erik had dreamed about for far too long, was all the incentive he needed.The paralysis broke, and once he started, he couldn’t stop. Charles, his soft mouth, warm body and everything else. When Erik bit down on Charles’ lip, Charles sighed and when Erik dragged in a short breath, Charles dragged the air right back out of his lungs.

It was as if he was drowning. Charles’ clever hands reached down, gripping at Erik’s hips and pulling them towards him. When he had a good grip, he thrust forward, rubbing their erections together. It was enough for Erik’s breath to catch in his throat, and come out as a low, desperate moan. His hands found their way into Charles’ hair as Charles kissed his throat, his hands smoothing over his torso and thighs, wandering and sneaking underneath his shirt until his cold hands were touching the skin on Erik’s back.

Charles panted into his mouth, his breath mingling with Erik’s for every turn and when Erik closed his eyes, he could feel something starting to build – a white, burning glow behind his eyes that snagged the breath right out of him.

He grappled at Charles’ shoulder, creating a small space between them. “Wait. Are we – “ he started, still gasping for air. “Do you – ?”

Charles swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I think so.”

“You’re drunk,” Erik said, heart speeding up in his chest. This might not be true at all, but he was clinging to it all the same.

At that, Charles put his forehead to Erik’s; fire whisky breath ghosting over his lips. “You’re too.”

Erik breathed the scent of him with, trying to sober up. The familiar lavender and ink scent that Erik had carried with him in a special place in his brain for the better part of three years – secret and tucked away. It was out in the open now, like he’d ripped out a tooth. All the protective tissue surrounding it, all the blood vessels keeping it nourished was bleeding all over his tongue.

“I know,” he whispered.  “But will you – would you still want this if you weren’t?”

The words were out before he could stop them, but this time Charles answered immediately. “I‘m certain, yes.”

Swallowing down the bubbling feeling in his chest, Erik made himself say, “We should still talk about this tomorrow,” he said, breathing hard and every part of his being screaming not to let Charles’ go.

He still did and leaning back, Charles kissed him one last time and nodded. “It’s probably a good idea. Everything is very hazy for me. I know what I’m doing but –”

He trailed off, looking a bit sad and helpless as he took Erik’s hand. Erik pulled a knee up to his chest, holding onto it. Blood was still rushing in his ears and he was feeling breathless.

“Yeah,” he said, staring into the flames again. The fire was much lower now; the embers glowing.

“But you were wrong, by the way,” Charles then said.

Erik looked at him, stiffening. “About what?”

“That I don’t want to give you want you want.”

Erik’s mouth fell open. “Oh.”

Charles grinned, and smoothed his thumb over Erik’s knuckles. Erik shivered and grinned back and for a long moment, none of them said anything.

“Could I kiss you again?” Erik said, breaking the silence. “It doesn’t– I mean, I would do that. Anyway.”

He’d barely finished the sentence when Charles leaned in again, and Erik couldn’t find any reason not to kiss back when Charles kissed him again; his lips feverishly hot and smooth against Erik’s and his hands curled around Erik’s neck, combing through his hair. Gone was the desperation, and the panic that had built in Erik’s chest before, quietly sunk back down as he kissed Charles back, merely holding him close.

It was only when the common room had gone so dark it was hard to make out each other’s features that Charles moved away.

“I think I need to go back to the basement. Don’t want Essex to catch me,” he whispered against Erik’s lips.

“Okay,” Erik said, and unfolded from the couch. He was still unsteady, nearly falling as he stepped around a table, but it wasn’t so much the alcohol anymore. Fire whisky went to your head from the get-go, but it loosened its hold pretty easily. “I could go with you.”

Charles shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Right,” Erik rubbed his neck. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

Charles smiled. “Yes. Especially since I know the password now.”

Erik groaned. “Could you please forget you ever heard that?”

“Not going to happen,” Charles grinned and leant forward pulling Erik towards him and kissing him again, quick and in a way that nearly spoke of habit; as if he’s been practicing and visualizing it in his head for years. “But I’ll promise only to use it for good.”

 


End file.
